


Piece of Cake

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Comment Fic 2016 [33]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 20:02:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7282708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the comment_fic prompt: "Stargate Atlantis, John Sheppard/Rodney McKay, The first time they get married offworld."</p><p>In which Rodney will do just about anything to get his hands on a ZPM, but he is offended at being compared to cake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Piece of Cake

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” John’s fought to keep his expression neutral. Rodney was practically vibrating with excitement. From the first moment Teyla had told him about the temple with the giant glowing crystal (read: ZPM), he’d been like a kid counting down the days till Christmas. Now they were not nine feet from the entrance to the temple, and the High Priest was informing them that only those engaged in the most sacred of rituals were allowed to enter the Crystal Chamber.  
  
The most sacred ritual, of course, was marriage.  
  
And not just standing in front of a priest and saying a few words and maybe a quick just-for-the-mission kiss.   
  
“For the marriage,” the High Priest said, “each Spouse and his or her Second must engage in the ritual washing and anointing, and then the vows must be delivered, and then the Wedded Ones must commune in silence to hear Inspiration from The Gods.”  
  
“Commune in silence? For how long?” John asked.  
  
“In the Crystal Chamber, for four hours.” The High Priest smiled benevolently.  
  
John glanced at Rodney. Four hours would be more than enough time to get the ZPM readings he wanted.  
  
“Great,” Rodney said, “Teyla, how would you like to be my wife?”  
  
Teyla raised her eyebrows. Ronon failed to smother a smile.  
  
The High Priest said, “But of course, she is not the one you love.” He reached out, grasped Rodney’s wrist, then grasped John’s and pulled their hands together so they were holding hands very awkwardly.   
  
John said in a low voice, “Rodney, is there something you want to tell me? Or am I just giving off some vibe? I swear, I never see this kind of thing coming.”  
  
Rodney was bright pink. “Okay, fine. John’s better at using my equipment anyway.”  
  
Ronon snorted.  
  
“My scientific equipment!”  
  
“Still not helping,” Ronon said.  
  
John knew a ZPM was vital to the expedition. “Okay, Rodney, let’s do this. Teyla, you be Rodney’s second, Ronon can be mine -”  
  
“A woman cannot be a second for a man,” said the High Priest.  
  
John gritted his teeth, then forced himself to smile. “Okay. How about we radio back to Atlantis and - what does being a second involve, anyway?”  
  
The High Priest began to unfasten his robe.  
  
“Whoa, hey now, we’re still getting to know each other,” John said, but the High Priest shrugged off the sleeves and revealed his bare chest.  
  
Which was covered in fine, tiny ornate tattoos.  
  
“You must have the appropriate prayers inscribed on your skin.”  
  
“...My military has rules about how much ink a man can have,” John began, and Rodney hissed, “Sheppard! Shut up! It’s for a ZPM!”  
  
But Teyla said, “It is not permanent. It lasts a long time. It is like...nail polish.” Kusanagi and some of the other women had been trying to teach her about Earth life. “I have seen this before.”  
  
“The Second must adorn you with the prayers.” The High Priest shrugged his robes back on.  
  
“I can paint,” Ronon said.  
  
“You?” Rodney looked him up and down.  
  
Ronon shrugged. “I can write poetry, too. And plays. You play piano, right?”  
  
“Right,” Rodney said, though he still looked dubious about Ronon's artistic skill.  
  
“Who else on Atlantis can paint?” John asked. Maybe one of the scientists? They painted tiny statues for D&D, right?  
  
“Evan can paint,” Ronon said.  
  
“Evan?” Rodney looked as confused as John felt.  
  
“Major Lorne,” Teyla said.  
  
John’s new 2IC. “Great. Dial the gate and get him on the radio.”  
  
Half an hour later, Lorne and a couple of his marines arrived. “You said you needed something painted?”  
  
“We have to be painted,” Rodney said flatly.  
  
“Of course.” Lorne rifled through his pack. “Are we talking body murals or henna? I have henna cones and some fine-tip paintbrushes and some non-toxic acrylics that work pretty well on skin. What’s the occasion?”  
  
“Marriage,” John said, daring Lorne to laugh. Both of his marines made suspicious coughing sounds, but Lorne nodded.  
  
“All right. What do you need me to do?”  
  
The High Priest explained, and Lorne nodded earnestly through it all, and then Teyla was left behind as Ronon, Rodney, John, and Lorne followed the High Priest to the sacred baths.

Ronon and Lorne stripped down unselfconsciously, whereas Rodney looked ready to give up on the ZPM when one of the junior priests said he had to remove his boxers before he entered the bath. John had had a lot of his prudishness stripped away by life in the barracks, but he was a little alarmed at Lorne’s easy comfort with his own nudity. Ronon was an alien and had been alone for seven years to boot; what was Lorne’s excuse?  
  
As if sensing John’s discomfort, Lorne said, “I minored in fine art in college, sir. Used to do modeling for life drawing classes. Extra money if I was completely undraped.”  
  
Undraped. That was a nice euphemism.  
  
“Who is the Second for whom?” the High Priest asked. “We must begin the ritual cleansing.”  
  
Rodney, clutching his t-shirt in front of his groin, darted nervous looks at Ronon and Lorne.  
  
“I promise not to get too handsy, Doc,” Lorne said. “If it makes you feel better, I’m already spoken for.”  
  
John shot him a look. He’d been on Atlantis for all of what, three months? Or did he have someone back on Earth?  
  
“Fine, I’ll take Major Lorne,” Rodney said.  
  
The High Priest walked them through the ritual cleansing which, if it weren’t so awkward, would have been kind of nice and relaxing. The water in the baths was warm, and John could sit back and let Ronon rub his shoulders and massage nice-smelling oil into his hair. Ronon’s big, strong hands were pretty awesome.  
  
On the other side of the both, Lorne kept up a steady stream of narration for Rodney.   
  
“I’m going to put the oil in your hair now, okay? Ready? Close your eyes and tip your head back a bit so it doesn’t get into your eyes. Here goes.”  
  
John could see how uncomfortable the whole naked with another man thing was making Rodney. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.  
  
“It’s a ZPM,” Rodney said. That was practically his mantra.  
  
After the bath, they were all given towels, and then they were given robes similar to the ones the priests were wearing. The robes opened at the front, so it was easy for John to shrug off the upper half to get painted.  
  
They were escorted out of the bathing room and into the anointing room, where there were comfy cushions.  
  
“The anointing takes a long time,” the High Priest said. “And this is a joyous occasion. So please, relax and enjoy! There will be food and drink.” He presented Ronon and Lorne with scrolls containing the prayers that had to be painted on the backs, chests, and arms of the marriage participants, as well as bowls of black-green paste.  
  
Ronon told John to sit comfortably, picked up a paintbrush, and gave John absolutely zero warning before something cold and wet poked him in the spine.  
  
“Hold still!” Ronon said, clamping a hand down on John’s shoulder. “I don’t want it to come out crooked.”  
  
“Sorry,” John said. “Just - I wasn’t expecting it to be so cold.” Especially after how nice and warm the bath had been.  
  
Rodney was huddled on a cushion, blushing from his neck all the way down to his chest, and damn, but Rodney had a great chest, great shoulders. How had John never noticed? Rodney put in some time in the gym, because all gate-rated scientists had to have basic survival skills (read: running away from the Wraith), but he was looking good.  
  
Lorne had what looked like a cake decorating bag and was pouring some of the paste into it.  
  
“What are you doing?” Rodney asked.  
  
“Trust me,” Lorne said, “this is faster. Calm down, Doc. I won’t mess this up for you. Alien weddings are a big deal. Is this your first?”  
  
Rodney sat up a little straighter, peered over his shoulder at Lorne, who was securing the top of the cone bag with a rubber band. “Isn’t this yours?”  
  
“No way, Doc. Lots of off-world marriages at the SGC,” Lorne said. “We kept a book, to be safe. Some aliens like to, you know, check up on the results of their matchmaking.”  
  
“No one told me that.” Rodney sounded indignant.  
  
“Well, you weren’t on a gate team under the Mountain, were you? We should probably start a Pegasus book.” Lorne cut off the tip of the cone bag and began squeezing a line of paste onto Rodney’s skin, like he was decorating a cake.

He was right. It was a lot faster. John watched the design on Rodney’s back unfold, the curves and swirls and angles. It was...meditative. Calming. And the cool paste actually felt kinda nice. John was used to the tickle of the paintbrush by now. Ronon’s presence was comforting, oddly enough. Even Rodney, he could see, was relaxing.  
  
“You’re really good at that,” John said.  
  
Lorne glanced over his shoulder. “Oh? Well, lots of practice.”  
  
“You decorate a lot of cakes?”  
  
“I’m not a cake,” Rodney protested.  
  
“My Nan was a professional pastry chef, so yes,” Lorne said. “But also my sister is a tattoo artist, runs her own shop. Does henna tattoos on the side. I used to help her out. Got invited to an awful lot of girls’ sleepovers for it.”  
  
John grinned. “Lorne, you dog.”  
  
“Hardly, sir.” Lorne had finished Rodney’s back, and he shifted so he could work on Rodney’s left arm. “You doing okay, Doc?”  
  
“I’m a little offended you’re approaching this very important task like I’m a cake.”  
  
“Not at all, Doc. One of my sister’s friends said henna tattoos were often used for weddings because they’re calming, and also cooling. Make a bride sit still for a couple of hours while people dote on her and make her pretty, and she cools down and is less of a bridezilla.”  
  
“What’s a bridezilla?” Ronon asked.  
  
“Are you suggesting I’m the bride in all this?” Rodney demanded.  
  
“Well, Doc, between you and Sheppard, you are the prettiest. No offense, Colonel.”  
  
“None taken, since I totally agree,” John said.  
  
Rodney whipped around, and Lorne snatched his hand back. “Hey, careful!”  
  
“Look, I get this is a stressful situation, and humor is a way to de-stress, but it’s not working for me, all right?” Rodney was actually shaking. “There’s a perfectly serviceable mirror in my quarters and I know what I look like, and I get you’re trying to be nice, but it’s not - it’s not funny.”  
  
“What’s not funny?” Ronon asked.  
  
“I know I’m the last person John Sheppard would want to get married to, because you’re handsome and charming and I’m sure secretly fabulously wealthy, and you probably used to date supermodels, but this is for the entire expedition, all right?” Rodney’s chest was rising and falling rapidly.  
  
With his lips parted and his face flushed and his eyes wide and bright, he looked incredible.  
  
“Rodney,” John said, “you _are_ good-looking.”  
  
Rodney held up a hand. “Don’t try to make me feel better about this.”  
  
Lorne sighed. “Doc, I wasn’t trying to make light. The Colonel’s right. You really are good-looking.”  
  
“Not you too, Major.” Rodney closed his eyes.  
  
John glanced at Lorne, who shrugged apologetically. “Boys, give us a moment.”  
  
Ronon nodded, and he and Lorne stood up, left the room.  
  
John crossed the room and sat down on a cushion beside Rodney. He put a hand on Rodney’s shoulder, careful not to smear the paint on his back.  
  
“Rodney, take a few deep breaths.”  
  
“Can we just get this over with, please? Those four hours in the crystal chamber could be vital to the expedition’s survival.”  
  
“Rodney, look at me.”  
  
Rodney opened one eye and peered at him. “Got more platitudes for me?”  
  
“No.” John leaned in, hesitated just long enough to give Rodney a chance to push him away, and kissed him.  
  
Rodney kissed back tentatively, reached up, and John pulled back.  
  
“Whoa, no, don’t smear the paint. Ronon and Lorne will kill us if we smear the paint.” But he ducked back in and kissed Rodney again. “Like I said, you _are_ good-looking.”  
  
From the doorway, Ronon said, “I told you Sheppard would be cool with it.”  
  
John twisted around. “Cool with what?”  
  
Ronon reached out, fisted a hand in Lorne’s hair, and hauled him in for a kiss.  
  
Well, that explained a lot of things. Like how Ronon knew Lorne could paint.  
  
John blinked. “Okay. With that out in the open, how about we finish getting married?”  
  
“Yes, sir.” Lorne saluted, grinning cheekily, and resumed his seat beside Rodney.  
  
As it turned out, the ZPM in the crystal chamber was dead and instead illuminated by a fire beneath it in the pedestal, and the readings were pointless, but Rodney and John had a good four hours to meditate and commune with...each other.  
  
The next time they were off-world and someone had to get married, Rodney was quick to volunteer himself and John.


End file.
